Lost Pause: BAD END
by ComradeTrick
Summary: This is a short story meant to serve as a vision into a darker side of Noble from Lost Pause, set in 2019. Noble's world is falling apart and he's losing those he held dear. If you're reading this, Noble, maybe take this as a warning? I don't know, it was cool to write anyways.


I stir from my bed once again, my vision blurry from four hours of sleep. I used to get more, I recall. I used to sleep like a log, didn't I? Those days seem to have dwindled down to nothingness. But I can work on four hours of rest, I just have to have a cup of coffee, and then I'll be good.

The bed feels too large, too overly empty, too cold. I feel too cold, even though the sun's emerging and it looks warm enough outside. At first I thought the feeling would pass, that the warmth would return to my body, the fire in my eye and in my blood would surely come back. And it sometimes does, occasionally. On those endless Tinder dates, sometimes I feel that stirring and grow a little warmer. Not exactly like a fireplace, more like a candle. It's always enough to get my hopes up though.

I heave myself off the bed, regretting my choice not to downsize to a single. The extra space just reminds me of her. I don't like being reminded of her. It just makes the day's work harder than it already is.

Sometimes I really wonder why I bother getting dressed at all in the mornings when I'm probably going to stay indoors all morning and not interact with anyone else, but it'd look a little bizarre to my audience if I just recorded myself in my pyjamas, or fully naked for that matter. Either way, I chuck on a pair of pleasantly worn-looking navy jeans and a plain-looking red t-shirt. I'm not too worried about dressing classy, I never was. I suppose I've let my standards drop a bit but I'm a little too caught up in my other matters to notice or care.

To stop myself from imploding from tiredness, I hit the switch on the coffee maker and watch a thin, steaming stream of brown pour from the nozzle into an ageing mug. Milk or no milk, I question as I throw a couple of pieces of toast into the toaster. It's honestly sad that these are the things that bother me now. Channel strikes? Loss of originality? Nope, should I put fucking milk in my fucking coffee? Will that excessively overbear the subtleties of my Caffe Americano? For God's sake.

This is the routine I perform every day, and needless to say it's getting a tad monotonous. Somedays I think I'm stuck in some kind of hell, destined to repeat the same daily activities over and over. I glance over at the calendar, with the 1st of July, 2019 circled in fat red marker, with 'AX' written inside in capitals. Can I afford to miss it? It doesn't feel right, going without Rui. After just two conventions with her by my side, it seems like some kind of perverse betrayal to go alone, even if she ignores my phone calls and messages now. Where did I go wrong?

This is a rhetorical question, of course. I know exactly where I went wrong.

This train of thought is interrupted by the toaster popping, jolting me out of my memories. Shit, that scared me a little. I bring a plate over to the toaster, along with some butter and a knife, and prepare to prepare it, when my phone rings. I debate about whether to answer it or just letting it go to voicemail. People don't really call up that often nowadays, they just assume I've got my hands full with work. That's what Rui assumed, which is why I'm alone now. Aki and my family also don't call anymore, so it's probably Misty. He still maintains contact with me, and we occasionally collaborate on videos on his channel.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and my suspicion is confirmed, it is indeed Misty. I answer his call with a half-hearted "What's crackin'?"

"Hey dude, so I just heard that Kenichiro Takaki'll be at this year's AX! You need to buy exclusive tickets though. You thinking of buying them?"

"Yeah, about that...I'm probably going to pass on this year's AX. Sorry."

"Umm...yeah, okay. That's fine. Uh, I'll just...see you around." I can hear his sigh right before he hangs up. If I was him I'd start screaming down the receiver. I can picture it now.

"Noble, what the FUCK!? You need to fucking EXIST or something! Stop being a pussy and try to ENJOY your life, you fucking dead loss!" Misty wouldn't do that though. He hasn't abandoned the sinking ship yet. I'd get the fuck off as soon as I had the chance, but I don't really have that choice. I'm stuck on this ship til the end.

I feel a couple notifications come through on my phone as I eat my toast, cold from the time I spent talking with Misty. I knew I shouldn't have answered the fucking phone. I eat about half a piece and throw the rest in the bin. I wasn't hungry anyways.

I always dread checking my notifications. They're typically from all my fans, sending through fanart and kind words, requests for reaction videos and voice acting and the like. That was all fine when I'd hit one million subs, and before that. However, now every message feels like a nail hammered into a particularly sensitive area of the body. It feels like every kind message, every adoring fan, every lovely drawing...they all feel like the result of a carefully crafted lie. It all used to be genuine, but after all the sacrifice it's really hard to be the perverted, smiling, giggly YouTuber that my audience loves. I've gone too far to change my image now.

I reflect on all of this as I sit down to my computer to check on my channel's statistics and my Twitter. 800 new subscribers since yesterday, I notice. I've been growing at a fairly steady pace, and I'm only thirty thousand subscribers away from hitting five million. The thought should excite me, and it would two years or so ago, but not now. It doesn't mean anything to me now. It's slowly destroying me, in fact. I've poured so much energy into my work, I've neglected everything else. In my quest for success I've lost everything that gave my life meaning. My friends, my girlfriend, my family, everything. Oh fuck, I'm freaking out now. This doesn't happen, this shouldn't happen. I feel myself hyperventilating now, my chest rapidly rising and falling as I desperately try to suck in enough air to keep me alive.

This is what a panic attack feels like, I think, as I start sweating profusely, tears escaping my eyes.

I've sacrificed everything for a few numbers on a screen, I think, as I feel my carefully constructed facade crack and break, shatter into smithereens.

I can't do this anymore, I think, as my fist flies through the monitor.

"Happy face, c'mon, happy face." I mutter under my breath, as the camera records me. I'll just edit out all of my preparation and my warm-up. I'm fine now, my hand's bandaged up and I'm breathing normally. I'll just plug in a spare monitor later. I breathe in and out steadily, then I put on my biggest smile and address the camera.

"What's crackin' guys, and welcome to another."

 **BAD END**

. . . . .

Author's Note

Thank you for reading my short fanfiction. And this is a slim chance, but if Noble is reading this, I want this to serve as a warning to you. Nothing is worth losing your friendships and your relationships for. Your success on YouTube shouldn't take priority. Take a step back and think about what's taking priority in your life. This isn't supposed to be a criticism in any way, but I can feel the signs that you're going to go down a path that you'll regret. Might be wrong though, eh?

Anyways, enough depressing shit. Cheers anyway.

-ComradeTrick


End file.
